Chryed Moon
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: Made of honey.


_**This percolated on the way back from the wonderful con. :) Hope you like it. :) xxx**_

* * *

"Sorry."

Resignedly, Christian tore off another strip of toilet paper and handed it to Syed, waiting patiently while he dabbed at his eyes and noisily blew his nose.

"Better now?" He sat down beside him on the bed and put his arm around him, letting him rest his head on his shoulder, automatically stroking the tear damp hair from his forehead.

"I've been such a total, complete, utter…"

"Arse?" Christian suggested and Syed managed a weak smile.

"The word I had in mind was ruder. I've ruined everything."

"Broken things can be mended…" Christian felt as if he were trotting out platitudes, unsure that words would cut it, could make anything better. He gazed around their luxurious hotel room, keen to change the subject. Deciding he was unlikely to be able to resurrect a sense of occasion and celebration, he strove for normality and calm. "…It's dead posh here."

Syed blinked and joined him in surveying the fixtures and fittings, taking in the opulent swags of the curtains, the ornate curves on the back of a richly upholstered chair, the fruit bowl on the table, piled high, a complimentary bottle of champagne leaning rakishly against the edge of a silver ice bucket.

"Isn't it! The bathroom door looks a bit odd…"

Following the direction of his nod, Christian frowned at the mismatched paint and the badly covered scar in the wood.

"Oh yeah. I think it's been mended. Maybe rock stars have been in here before us, trashing the place…What do you want to do? You must be starving. Sun's setting. Shall I ring for room service? There's a menu somewhere."

Kissing the top of Syed's head, Christian gently shifted his body away, removing his support, wondering if Syed would wilt and crumble, pooling onto the bedcover in a damp puddle of guilt. He walked over to the table and sifted through the welcome pack, the list of dishes making his mouth water.

The set of his shoulders, broad in his wedding suit, the material creased on the hem from the near silent train journey, made Syed wretched. Their brave strength sagging, almost imperceptibly, weighed down and battered by the whirlwind of contrasting emotions that had filled the day.

"We could go out?" Syed suggested quietly and undid the top button of his shirt, breathing out a long sigh as the restrictive tightness released. "Get out of this stuff…"

Christian slowly poured himself a glass of champagne and took a long swig. Turning to face Syed, he winked and gave him a lopsided smile.

"Nooo! You look so handsome."

"Do I?"

"Always. Thank god we didn't end up having to wear the shiny hideousness."

"Oh I don't know…" Syed grinned, an impish light shining in his reddened eyes that filled Christian's heart with hope. "…I can't understand the hissy fit. We could have got ourselves jobs crooning duets on a cruise ship."

"Now that sounds rather fab! Come on then. I know you've got a bizarre yen to passively smoke strong French cigarettes... "Christian hesitated, struck by a latent awkwardness between them, finding the question on his lips, given the occasion, strange, but saying it anyway. "…Do you want to shower first, or shall I?"

"Oh… You go."

Christian removed his suit, hanging it up carefully, smoothing out the fabric and touching the buttonhole before he put it away in the grand wardrobe. In his socks and pants, he crouched down and rummaged in the luggage to find his wash bag, heartened by the knowledge that Syed was undoubtedly automatically checking him out.

"Won't be long." He put the toilet roll nearer to Syed and touched his chin. "No brooding."

Hearing the rush of water, the muted singing of 'Stand By Me', Syed began to do exactly that, remembering his father's face, his mother's hysteria, his brother's mute disbelief, Christian's stoical love and started to cry again, for everyone including himself.

When Christian reappeared from the bathroom, clad in a white fluffy dressing gown and rubbing at his head with a towel, Syed hid his face from him, rubbing at his cheekbones with the heels of his hands and rushed past, muttering,

"Desperate for a piss."

Sighing, Christian savagely pulled out the drawers on the dressing table until he located a hair dryer and stared stonily at his own reflection while he set about drying his hair.

* * *

Syed twisted the bottle in front of him around, wincing as hot wax dripped from the candle wedged in the neck onto his thumb. He let it dry and picked at the red flake, watching as Christian strolled back from the bar, ducking under the low vaulted ceiling of the café bar. He wrinkled his nose incredulously at the glass Christian ceremoniously pushed towards him.

"That's a funny orange juice!" He exclaimed, twirling the little paper umbrella around, making the ice clink against the sides.

Christian smiled.

"It's a frivolous cocktail. Innocent Passion. Cranberry, lemon and passion fruit juice. Complete with plastic monkey. We're celebrating."

Unhooking the little figure from the rim of the glass, Syed waggled it morosely.

"So we are. I'm sorry…"

"Shut up and drink it. I took no notice of you saying you're not hungry and ordered us both Sole M_eunière_. And frites, lots of lovely frites."

Obediently, Syed tasted his drink and half closed his eyes with pleasure.

"Mmm. That's lovely!" His stomach gurgled loudly. "Thank you. I could eat a horse."

"You should have said. When in France… I hope the food at the reception didn't go to waste…" Seeing Syed open his mouth to apologise, Christian held up a warning finger. "…Don't."

"I'm s… Oh shit."

Syed rested his forehead on the table; rapidly sitting bolt upright at the sound of a polite cough and moving his drink to one side as a waiter placed down a basket.

Scraping a curl of butter onto his knife, Christian spread it liberally onto a piece of bread and handed it to Syed, saying sternly,

"Eat."

Syed relished the salty smoothness on his tongue and lifted baleful eyes, glittering in the candlelight, to meet Christians, mumbling through a mouthful,

"What would I do without you?"

"You won't have to find out. It will be okay, Sy. It'll get sorted. They'll forgive you."

"Again? How many times do they have to?"

"You got in a stupid muddle." Christian took his hand, turning it over and tracing his finger across the palm. "Promise me you'll talk to me if you ever get in a mess again."

"I will." Syed stated firmly, hoping it was true, the conviction of his tone masking his doubts, desperate to protect Christian from harm.

"Good." Christian leaned back in his chair and beamed. "Here come our fish and chips."

* * *

A chill breeze blew from the east, making ripples on the surface of the Seine, causing the moon's reflected beams to dance and judder. Syed huddled closer to Christian's side, slipping his arm beneath his leather jacket, his hand into his pocket, leaching his warmth. They paused in their stroll to look across the river, listening to the faint strains of music bleeding through the air from a distant party boat, staring up at the high dark spires of Notre Dame Cathedral.

"Moonlight over Paris." Christian said, tightening his hold on Syed's shoulder.

"Beats the Walford Canal…"

"Oh I don't know. We've been romantic there. Amongst the graffiti and the dead hedgehogs."

"We've been romantic everywhere…" Syed reached up to kiss him, slowly, sadly, an ocean of feeling flowing between them. "…Thank you for believing in me."

A tear trickled into Syed's mouth and he pulled away, frowning with concern.

"Hey, hey, Christian! Don't you start! I didn't bring the bog roll."

"Gah, I've been a big girl's blouse all day. You wouldn't think I had any tears left."

"Aww, Clarkey. Your eyes will go puffy and you probably didn't pack that special magic cream. Let's go back. It's our wedding night. We should be in that big bed, not freezing our balls off out here."

* * *

Lying together, sheet pushed away from their entwined bodies, warm and sleepy, spent from a tender, sweet lovemaking, Syed turned the new shiny ring on Christian's finger around and around, the metal smooth beneath his fingertips.

"I don't really have to wear that sarong do I?"

"Yeah you do. Tomorrow when we go up the Eiffel Tower."

"Our combined cocks?" Syed laughed, remembering another time. "I will if you will. What am I saying! You would."

"Ha ha! I'm definitely going to now."

Christian buried his face in Syed's hair and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in an agony of joy at the familiar smell, the closeness that had seemed so very far away as he had waited, looking longingly through the door at a rainy street, his breath tight and painful in his throat, trying to accept the unthinkable.

"You know what?"

The question snapped Christian away from his agonising reverie and he pulled Syed closer, over onto his chest so that his face was inches away from his own.

"What?"

Brushing his lashes softly against Christian's, Syed whispered.

"I may be sorry about a lot of things I've done, but I'm not sorry I married you."


End file.
